The Belles of Notre Dame
by beargirl1393
Summary: Instead of baby Quasimodo being taken in by Frollo, it is instead a baby girl. How does the story change when Amelia is in The Hunchback of Notre Dame, fully human but still with cat ears?
1. The Beginning

_**Instead of baby Quasimodo being taken in by Frollo, it is instead a baby girl. How does the story change when Amelia is in The Hunchback of Notre Dame, fully human but still with cat ears?**_

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><p>Clopin set out puppets, anticipating the children who would rush to him for a story. He wasn't disappointed, as within minutes of finishing setting up there were a half dozen children in front of him, eagerly awaiting his story.<p>

His ears caught the sweet chimes of the soft bells, the deep replies from the larger bells, and his story was decided in his mind as he turned to the children, smiling at them and getting bright grins in return.

"They're beautiful, no?" he asked, gesturing towards Notre Dame, visible even streets away, towering over every other building in sight. "So many changing moods…it is because the bells don't ring by themselves." "_They don't?_" he made the puppet ask, chuckling at the children's giggles as he answered the question, the one unasked in each of their eyes. "Of course not you silly boy. Up there," he then pulled the curtain away so the children had a clearer view, through his carriage, of Notre Dame, "High in the dark bell tower lives the mysterious bell ringer."

He could see he had their attention, but a bit more interruption from the puppet sealed their interest in learning about the mysterious creature that lives in the bell tower at Notre Dame. Who was he to disappoint his eager audience? "Listen, Clopin will tell you."

It was a dark night when our tale began. Four frightened gypsies were attempting to flee to Paris, paying a boatman for safe passage. A baby's cry rent the night, and the mother tried desperately to shush her child before they were discovered.

Things seemed fine for them, until an arrow lodge itself in the pole the man used to steer the boat, the gypsies crowding together as they realized they were surrounded.

Judge Claude Frollo made a terrifying sight, mounted upon a stallion as black as his own cold heart. He longed to rid the world of vice and sin, seeing corruption all around him but never looking within to his own merciless heart to see the misdeeds which dwelled there.

He ordered all of the gypsies taken to the Palace of Justice, and as three of them were led away, a soldier attempted to rip the mother's bundle from her arms on Frollo's orders. The woman broke away, terrified that her child would be discovered and thus killed because of her deformity, and so she ran.

She could feel the breath of the horse upon her back, but although it had been many years since she had last visited Paris, she did remember the quickest route to Notre Dame. And so she ran, darting through passages too small for the horse to get through and making it to the doors of Notre Dame before Frollo.

She pounded on the doors as loudly as she could with her free hand, her child cradled to her breast with the other. "Sanctuary, please give us sanctuary!" she screamed, hearing the horse's hooves coming closer.

She cowered by the door, knowing that Frollo had heard her, that he was not allowed to harm her upon church grounds now that she had called for sanctuary. But he kept approaching and she turned to run again, but the horse was to quick, and they caught up to her, Frollo grabbing a handful of the blankets surrounding her daughter and pulling. She pulled back with all of her strength, but she was no match for Frollo, as the man pulled the bundle away from her, kicking her harshly before she had the time to cry out. She fell back, blood coating the snow around her on the steps of Notre Dame.

Frollo paid no attention to the woman, one more dead gypsy meant nothing to him, as he examined the bundle. He looked at it curiously as it cried. A baby? He held it closer, undoing the wrapping s, before rearing back in revulsion at the thing inside. A monster.

He looked around quickly, finally spying a well only a few feet away. Perfect for disposing of the demon in his grasp. He held the bundle of blankets over the well, about to release, when a new voice rent the night air.

"Stop!" cried the archdeacon.

"This is an unholy demon," Frollo said negligently, not bothering to move the monster from where it was dangling precariously in his grasp.

The archdeacon knelt beside the fallen woman, sadly realizing that she was indeed dead. "See here the innocent blood you have already spilled on the steps of Notre Dame," he replied, gesturing around at the bloodied snow around him, the lifeless woman cradled in his arms. "Will you add that child's blood to your guilt on the very steps where you killed it's mother."

"She ran, I pursued her," Frollo replied, waving off the accusations. "My conscience is clear."

"You may lie to yourself and your minions," the archdeacon warned. "But you cannot hide what you have done from the eyes of Notre Dame herself."

For the first time in his life, a life of carefully gathered power and control, Frollo felt a twinge of fear for his soul. Perhaps the old fool had a point. "What must I do?" he asked, succeeding, mostly, at keeping his voice from shaking.

"Care for the child, and raise it as your own," the archdeacon replied, carrying the poor child's mother up the remaining steps.

"What? Am I to be saddle with this…?" Frollo trailed off speculatively as he looked up at the tower. Perhaps this could still turn out to his advantage. "Very well, but the child must live here."

"Live here? But where?" the archdeacon replied, staring at Frollo with evident confusion and distrust.

"Anywhere. The bell tower perhaps," Frollo replied, looking up at the church before turning back to the child. "As long as she is kept locked away where no one else can see." A speculative gleam came into his eyes as he stared at the child. "Who knows? Even this foul creature may one day be of use to me."

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><p><em><strong>I'm working on all of my stories, but I haven't had much time to write anything recently. When I did have time I just wasn't in the right headspace to write. I'm sorry, and I'm going to try to update soon.<strong>_


	2. Interlude

The child was named Amelia, as Frollo wished for her to know, even from infancy, that she would need to work for her keep, that she owed him a debt that would need to be repaid.

He sent her up to the belltower of Notre Dame, found a woman who had lost an infant and paid her to suckle the creature. She would feed and care for the child, leaving him free to go on with his duties and forget about the burden imposed upon him by the meddling Archdeacon.

The child's ears remain misshapen, resembling that of a cat, but there seems to be no effect on her hearing, for good or ill, because of it. Were it not for the Archdeacon, she would have been killed the night her mother died, or thrown into an institute with other ill individuals. There were several lunatic asylums whose doctors would have enjoyed the opportunity to experiment on the child.

As it was, once the child was too old for a wet nurse, Frollo was forced to take over the duties of feeding and raising the child. He did not allow her to stray, ensuring that her nose was in her books, absorbing her studies rather than the filth of the world. The bell tower ensured that no corruption would ever come to her.

Frollo never realized that corruption visited Amelia daily, and she called it 'Master'.

Once Amelia was old enough to walk without constantly tripping, Frollo set her to work. She was to ring the bells, for Mass and any other suitable occasion.

It was difficult, at first. She was still small and not very strong, but she was determined to make her master proud even as she resented him for keeping her locked up. She would never shirk her duties, the people depended upon the bells at times.

She learned quickly, building up muscle from constantly pulling the different ropes, learning how to polish and care for each individual bell. She took to running through the rafters, leaping from board to board and swinging from the ropes. At times she would run along the roof of Notre Dame herself, reveling in the moonlight at night and watching the people by day. No one noticed her, high up on the top of Notre Dame, and she passed her time between her duties and her lessons by wondering what they were like.

It became lonely after a time, as no one visited beyond Frollo. She was grateful to him for taking her in, aware that she would have been on the street, or worse, if it were not for him, but she resented him in equal measure for keeping her prisoner in the bell tower all of her life.

She longed to be free, to leave the tower and see what the town was like.

By the time that Amelia had grown from child to young woman, she had devised a way to leave the tower. She managed, with difficulty, to obtain a wig, carefully securing it and ensuring that her unusual ears were covered before leaving the tower. The simple dress that Frollo insisted that she wear in his presence was exchanged for trousers and a top, as she wore when she was caring for or ringing the bells. She carefully bound her chest as well, as women were discouraged from wearing such clothes.

She poured over her disguise, ensuring that she looked and could act the part, before sneaking out of the bell tower.

She drank in the sights, wandering the city and exploring everything. She was finally free, and she nearly lost track of the time, running back to Notre Dame and barely able to change and hide her disguise before Frollo made his daily visit.

It was the first time she was nearly caught, but it was far from the last. Once Amelia had a taste of freedom, she was not going to give it up so easily. She dreamed, at times, of simply not returning to the cathedral at all. Of simply continuing on her way and wearing her disguise for the rest of her life. She would have to leave Paris to do it, as she knew Frollo would find her otherwise, and she didn't want to leave the city. She loved Paris, and any answers about her family would be here.

Oh, Frollo had told her that her parents had abandoned her, and she knew they were likely dead if the man had anything to say about it, but she never believed him. He wanted her meek, mild, and subservient, and such was not in her nature.

She was wild and rebellious, like the gypsies he despised, and she knew that he would do anything to keep her under his control.

She was no longer a child who could be guilted into staying, into being grateful for her prison, and she would only stand for such so long.

She made herself a promise, each night as she laid down on her pallet to sleep.

Soon she would be free. Once she discovered what happened to her parents, she would confront Frollo once and for all. She would leave the church, leave Paris entirely. Perhaps she would find a job on a farm, or a ship, posing as a man if necessary. She would also like to attend the Festival of Fools, if only once.

She had asked each year, from the time she was a child, and each year Frollo had refused, had thrown her deformity back in her face and reminded her that no one would treat her as anything other than a monster if they saw her.

This year would be different, however. Regardless of if Frollo allowed her to go or not, Amelia would be at the Festival of Fools. She would use her wig, and her bindings as she knew that Frollo would recognize her dress, and she would attend the Festival. Despite Frollo's dark mutterings, it had always seemed enjoyable, and she would not let his hatred of gypsies, of anything enjoyable, stand in her way.


	3. Chapter 3

Amelia ran through the bell tower, leaping across the rafters and jumping to grab the ropes, her weight pulling the ropes to ring the bells as she swung from rope to rope, finally landing on the floor once her duties were done.

Tossing her hair out of her eyes, she moved towards the balcony that would let her oversee the preparations for the Festival of Fools. Her ears flicked slightly as she heard that she was being followed, but that was the only indication she gave to show that she realized that she wasn't alone.

Fortunately, Arrow had never been put off by her brooding.

"Are you going to go through with it?" the gargoyle asked in his gravelly voice, looking down at the commotion below with her. He was one of the taller gargoyles that decorated the cathedral, and she had made friends with him over the long, lonely years when she had been cooped up without a friend or companion beyond Frollo.

It was Arrow who had first suggested a wig, when she wanted to be able to leave the tower without being seen, and he had helped her to make sure that all of her disguise was perfect before she left.

"Don't be daft, Arrow, of course I am going to go through with it. I have been planning for this day for months now," Amelia replied, watching the movement below with avid interest.

"I still think that you should wear a dress rather than your trousers," Arrow replied. He had disapproved of her binding and leaving the tower dressed as a man, the penalties if she was caught would be horrible and he didn't want anything to happen to her. "And perhaps you should ask Frollo's permission to go."

"You know that he would never agree to it," Amelia replied, pushing away from the balcony and moving back inside, sitting in front of the table where her sewing supplies were set. Frollo wished for her to make herself useful when she was not tending to the bells, so she would mend his clothes as needed as well as her own. "It is better to beg forgiveness than ask permission."

She could tell that Arrow had a reply to that, likely something about how she would get in less trouble if she did ask permission, but before he could state it, footsteps were heard coming up the tower stairs.

Only one person ever ventured up to the bell tower, and Arrow immediately stiffened, looking like nothing more than an unmoving piece of rock. Amelia quickly changed out of the tunic and trousers she wore while caring for the bells and put on her dress, turning to face the door just as Frollo opened it.

"Good morning Amelia," Frollo said, basket in hand as he swept into the room. His eyes roamed over his ward, despite her deformity Amelia was growing into a lovely woman. If only she were less rebellious, more proper, then perhaps things would be different.

"Good morning, Master," Amelia said obediently, turning to get the plates and cups to set on the small, crude table that Frollo had provided for her.

"Whoever were you talking to?" Frollo asked, seating himself at the table and taking the better of the two chairs.

"I was reciting my alphabet, Master," Amelia replied, unpacking the grapes and pouring their drinks, taking the more crudely made cup and plate and leaving the better goblet and plate for Frollo, as always.

"Recite it for me," Frollo said, taking out his book and flipping through to the proper page. "A?"

"Abomination," Amelia replied, keeping her eyes lowered to her plate. _Which is what you believe me to be._

"Good," Frollo said approvingly. "B?"

"Blasphemy," Amelia replied evenly.

"C?"

"Contrition." _Which is what you believe I should feel every day for my mere existence._

"D?"

"Damnation." _Which is what you believe I will suffer because of my deformity._

"Good. E?"

"Evil." _Which you believe I am a product of, again because of my deformity._

"F?" Frollo asked, taking a sip of his wine.

"Forgiveness," Amelia answered steadily. _Which is what you believe I must ask, every day of my life, for being born defective, deformed. Broken. _

The list went on, as it ever did, Amelia eating her grapes in between reciting her alphabet for Frollo.

Frollo, for his part, kept his attention more on his pretty ward than he did on what she was saying. Her ears were her biggest deformity, of that there was no doubt. If she wore a wig, however, it would cover the deformity and she would be attractive. She was tall and slim, with supple curves, lean muscles evident when she moved from years of toiling in the bell tower, ringing and cleaning the bells.

Her eyes sparkled like emeralds in the sun, while her hair was a deep auburn, worn short, barely to her chin. It was an odd style, no woman would have hair that short in Paris, but it was intriguing none the less. Her skin was pale, as she was constantly kept inside and had little opportunity to be out in the sun.

Her hands, he noted with mild disgust, were calloused like a dock worker's from ringing the bells day after day, but lotions and gloves would be able to cover such unseemly aspects.

Amelia finished reciting her alphabet, unaware of her guardian's thoughts towards her, which had grown from pure distaste when she was an infant to distaste mixed with lust. She was an abomination, but her eyes were clear and pure, her dress hugged her form, and even with those ludicrous ears, he was still tempted to get close enough to smell the products she used to wash her hair.

Amelia packed away the dishes and cups once they were finished, Frollo putting the remainder of the wine in his basket but leaving the grapes as well as a loaf of bread for Amelia.

"I will not visit you tonight as I must oversee the festival," Frollo said as he stood, distaste evident in his voice as he swept from the room.

"Yes Master," Amelia replied, but her eyes gleamed as she looked toward her hiding spot. _I will see you there, although if my disguise is still effective, you will not notice me._


End file.
